It was still night when Anton stepped over the threshold of the tavern.
A thick cloud hung over the plain. A red glare on the horizon marked the
district through which the travelers had to pass. The mist of night
covered, with a gray veil, a dark mass on the ground. Anton went nearer,
and found that it consisted of men, women, and children, cowering on the
earth, pale, hungry, and emaciated. "They are from the village on the
other side of the boundary," explained an old watchman, who stood
wrapped in his cavalry cloak. "Their village was on fire; they had run
into the forest, and during the night they had come down to the river,
stretching out their hands, and crying piteously for bread. As they were
mostly women and children, our captain allowed them to cross, and has
had a few loaves cut up for them. They are half famished. After them
came larger bodies, all crying 'Bread! bread!' and wringing their hands.
We fired off a few pistol-shots over their heads, and soon scattered
them."
"Ha!" said Anton, "this is a poor prospect for us and our journey. But
what will become of these unfortunate creatures?"
"They are only border rascals," said the watchman, soothingly. "Half
the year they smuggle and swill, the other half they starve. They are
freezing a little just now."
"Could one not have a caldron full of soup made for them?" inquired
Anton, compassionately, putting his hand into his pocket.
"Why soup?" replied the other, coldly; "a drink of brandy would please
the whole fry better. Over there they all drink brandy, even the child
at the breast; if you are inclined to spend something upon them in that
way, I'll give it out, not forgetting a loyal old soldier at the same
time."
"I will request the landlord to have something warm got ready for them,
and you will have the goodness to see that it is all right." And again
Anton's hand went into his pocket, and the watchman promised to keep his
warlike heart open to compassion.
An hour later the travelers were rolling along in an open britzska. The
merchant drove; Anton sat behind him, and looked eagerly out into the
surrounding landscape, where, through darkness and mist, a few detached
objects were just beginning to appear. When they had driven about two
hundred yards, they heard a Polish call. The merchant stopped, and a
single man cautiously approached. "Come up, my good friend," said the
merchant; "sit here by me." The stranger politely took off his cap, and
swung himself up to the driving-box. He turned out to be the chief
krakuse of the day before--the man with the drooping mustache.
"Keep an eye on him," said the merchant in English to Anton; "he shall
serve us as a safe-conduct, and be paid for it too; but if he touches
me, lay hold of him from behind."
Anton took his despised pistols out of an old leathern pouch on one side
of the carriage, and, in sight of the krakuse, arranged them
ostentatiously in the pocket of his paletot. But the latter only smiled,
and soon showed himself a creature of a friendly and social nature,
nodding confidentially to both travelers, drinking some mouthfuls out of
Anton's traveling flask, trying to keep up, over his left shoulder, a
conversation with him, calling him "your grace" in broken German, and
giving him to understand that he too smoked, though he did not happen to
have any tobacco. At last he requested the honor of driving the
gentlemen.
In this manner they passed a group of fallen houses, which lay on a flat
close to a marsh, looking like giant fungi that had shot up on a
malarian soil, when they suddenly found themselves surrounded by a band
of insurgents. It was a general levy, such as they had seen the day
before. There were flails in abundance, a few scythes, old muskets,
linen smock-frocks, a strong smell of spirits, and wild, staring eyes.
This troop at once seized the horses by the bridles, and quick as
lightning began to unharness them. The krakuse now sprang up lion-like
from his seat, and displayed, in his Polish tongue, a vast amount of
eloquence, aided by much gesticulation with hands and feet. He declared
that these gentlemen were great noblemen, who were traveling to the
capital that they might speak with the government, and that it would
cost the head of every man who presumed to pull a hair out of one of
their horses' tails. This speech provoked several animated replies,
during which some clenched their fists, and some took off their caps.
Upon that the driver began a still more powerful oration, setting before
the patriots a prospective quartering if they even ventured to look
askance at the heads of the horses. This had the effect of diminishing
the number of clenched fists, and increasing that of the doffed caps. At
length the merchant put an end to the whole scene by suddenly flogging
the horses, and thus compelling the last recusants to jump aside as fast
as they could. The horses galloped off, loud interjections were heard in
the distance, and a few shots passed harmlessly over the heads of the
travelers, probably fired out of a general enthusiasm for fatherland
rather than with any definite purpose.
So the hours passed on. They not unfrequently met bands of armed
peasantry screaming and brandishing their cudgels, or else following,
with bent heads and hymn-singing, a priest who bore a church banner
displayed. The travelers were sometimes, indeed, stopped and threatened,
but at other times saluted with the utmost reverence, especially Anton,
who, sitting as he did behind, was taken for the most important
personage.
At length they approached a larger village, the bands grew closer, the
uproar greater, and here and there a uniform, a cockade, or a bayonet
appeared among the smock-frocks. Here, too, the driver began to show
symptoms of disquiet, and announced to the merchant that he could not
take them any farther, and that they must report themselves to the
leader in command. To this Mr. Schröter made no objection, but paid the
driver and stopped the carriage.
A young man with a blue head-piece, and a red and white scarf about his
waist, stepped forward, obliged the travelers to dismount, and with a
great display of zeal led them to the chief. The merchant still held the
reins in his hand, and whispered to Anton that he was on no account to
lose sight of the carriage. Anton pretended the utmost unconcern, and
pressed a coin into the hand of the friendly krakuse, who had crept
behind the carriage, that he might go and get the horses a bundle of
hay.
The sentry was in a house whose thatched roof had been dignified by the
whitewashing of the walls. A few muskets and guns leaned up against it,
watched by a youthful volunteer in blue coat and red cap. Near at hand
sat the commanding officer, whose flat face was surmounted by an immense
white plume, and whose person was adorned by an enormous white scarf,
and a sword with elaborate hilt. This dignitary was considerably excited
when he beheld the strangers; he clapped his hat more firmly on his
head, stroked his unkempt beard, and began to give audience. After a few
preliminary remarks, the travelers told him that they had weighty
business to transact with the heads of the government. They refused,
however, to give any account of its purport. This statement wounded the
dignity of the authority before them. He made harsh allusions to
suspicious characters and spies, and called to his guard to stand to
their arms. Instantly five youths in blue caps rushed out of the house,
ranged themselves in order, and were commanded to hold their guns in
readiness. Involuntarily Anton sprang between them and his principal.
Meanwhile the man of the giant sword, on seeing that the merchant still
stood quietly by the post round which he had fastened the reins, changed
his murderous intent, contenting himself with assuring him that he
considered him a very dangerous character, and was much inclined to
shoot him as a traitor.
The merchant shrugged his shoulders, and said, with calm politeness,
"You are entirely mistaken as to the object of our journey. You can not
seriously believe us to be spies, for we have just been brought to you
by one of your own people, in order that we might obtain from your
kindness a convoy to the capital. I must once more request you not to
detain us, as our business with the government is of a pressing nature,
and I shall be obliged to make you responsible for all unnecessary
delay." This address led to another volley of oaths on the part of the
man in authority, who snorted violent defiance against the travelers,
drank off a large glass of brandy, and finally came to a decision. He
called three of his men, and desired them to take their seats in the
carriage, and to convey it to the capital. A bundle of fresh straw was
thrown in, two youths with arms in their hands placed themselves behind
the travelers, while a white-frocked peasant sat on the box, took the
reins, and indifferently drove the whole cargo, suspicious characters,
patriots, and all, at a gallop toward the capital.
"Our condition has changed for the worse," said Anton. "Five men in this
little carriage, and the poor horses tired already."
"I told you," replied the merchant, "that our journey would have some
inconveniences. Men are never more troublesome than when they play at
being soldiers. In other respects, this guard over us does no harm; at
least, with such an escort, we are sure to be admitted into the city."
It was evening when they reached the capital. A red glare in the sky
showed them their goal while they were still far from it. As they
approached, they met numerous companies of armed men moving in and out.
Next came a long detention at the gates--an interchange of questions and
answers--an examination of the travelers by the aid of lanterns and pine
torches, angry looks, and even intelligible threats, and, finally, a
long drive through the streets of the old capital. Sometimes all around
them was still as death; sometimes a wild cry resounded from the crowd,
all the more alarming because the words were not understood.
At length the driver turned into a square, and stopped before a handsome
house. The travelers were surrounded and pushed up a broad staircase by
a crowd of gay uniforms, laced coats, and clean smock frocks. Next they
were thrust into a large apartment, and placed before a gentleman
wearing white silk gloves, who looked into a written report, and briefly
informed them that, according to the report of the commandant at the
station, they were suspected of being spies, and were to undergo a
court-martial. The merchant at once broke out in high displeasure: "I am
sorry that your informant should have told you a great falsehood, for we
have undertaken this journey on the highway and in broad daylight, for
the express purpose of speaking to your governors. The horses and
carriage which brought me here are both mine, and it was an uncalled-for
act of politeness on the part of your commandant to furnish me with an
escort. I wish to see the gentleman in command here as soon as possible;
it is to him alone that I mean to impart the motive of my journey; be so
good, therefore, as to hand him my passport."
The official examined the passport, and, looking at Anton, proceeded to
inquire, with somewhat more consideration, "But this gentleman? He has
the appearance of an officer in your army."
"I am a clerk of Mr. Schröter's," returned Anton, with a bow; "and out
and out a civilian."
"Wait a while," said the young man, superciliously, going with the
passport into a neighboring room.
As he remained away some time, and no one interfered with the travelers,
they sat down on a bench, and tried to appear as unconcerned as
possible. Anton first cast an anxious glance at his principal, who was
looking down gloomily, and then gazed about him in amazement. The room
in which they were was lofty, and the ceiling much ornamented, but the
walls were dirty and smoke-stained; tables, chairs, and benches stood
about in confusion, and seemed as if just brought in from the nearest
tavern. A few writers bent over their papers, while soldiers sat or lay
along the walls, asleep or talking loudly, several of them in French. A
room like this, dimly lighted, was not calculated to make a cheerful
impression upon Anton, who whispered to the merchant, "If revolutions in
general look like this, they are ugly things."
"They always destroy, and seldom recreate," was the reply. "I am afraid
that this room is an emblem of the whole town: the painted coat of arms
on the ceiling, and the dirty bench on which we are sitting. When such
contrasts as these are brought into juxtaposition, it is enough to make
a sober-minded man cross himself in horror. The nobles and the people
are bad enough, taken separately, when they each try their hands at
government; but when they unite, they are sure to bring down the house
that holds them."
"The nobles are the most troublesome," said Anton. "Commend me to our
krakuse; he was a polite insurgent, and knew the value of a half dollar;
but these gentlemen seem to have no business notions at all."
"Let us wait a little," said the principal.
A quarter of an hour had passed, when a young man, tall in stature and
stately in aspect, followed by the white-gloved gentleman, politely
approached the merchant, saying so loudly that even the sleepers could
hardly fail to hear, "I rejoice to see you here, and have indeed been
expecting it; have the goodness to follow me with your companion."
"By Jove, we are looking up!" thought Anton.
They followed their majestic guide into a small corner room, which was
evidently the boudoir of the quarters, for it contained an ottoman, easy
chairs, and a handsome writing-table. Different uniforms and articles of
dress were carelessly thrown upon the furniture; and on the table lay,
in the midst of papers, a pair of double-barreled pocket pistols, and a
large seal richly set in gold.
While Anton was noticing that the whole room was very elegant, but, at
the same time, very untidy, the young chief turned to the merchant and
said, with somewhat more reserve and less amenity, "You have, through a
misunderstanding, been exposed to some rudeness, as is indeed often
unavoidable in troubled times. Your escort has confirmed your
statements. I now beg you to impart to me the reason of your visit."
The merchant accordingly briefly but precisely explained the purpose of
his journey, named those men in the place with whom he was connected in
business, and appealed to them to ratify his statements.
"I know both those gentlemen," answered the officer, carelessly. Then
looking fixedly at the merchant, he asked, after a pause, "Have you
nothing further to communicate?"
The principal said he had not; but the other rapidly continued, "I quite
understand that our peculiar position prevents your government from
treating with us directly, and that, in the event of your being charged
with a commission, you must proceed with the utmost caution."
Here the merchant hastily interrupted him. "Before you say more, I again
assure you, as a man of honor, that I am come merely on my own business,
and that my business is only what I have already stated. But as I
conclude from your words, as well as much that I have heard on my way
hither, that you take me for a delegate, I feel constrained to tell you
that I never could have been charged with any commission such as you
seem to expect, its very existence being an utter impossibility."
The noble looked grave, and said, after a moment's silence, "Very well;
you shall not suffer on that account. The wish that you express is so
singular, that it would be impossible, in the common course of things,
to grant it. If we are not permitted to consider you a friend, the rules
of war command us to deal with you and yours as enemies. But the men of
my nation have ever possessed, in taking up arms, the rare virtue of
trusting to the virtue of others, as well as of acting nobly, even when
they could expect no gratitude in return. Be assured that I will, as far
as in me lies, assist you to recover your property."
So said the nobleman with self-conscious dignity; and Anton was keenly
alive to the true nobility of the words, though too thoroughly a man of
business to give himself up to the impression they made, his budding
enthusiasm being frostbitten by a very matter-of-fact thought: "He
promises to help us, and yet he is not quite convinced that the property
we wish to carry off is of right our own."
"I am not, alas! so absolute," continued the chief, "as to be able to
gratify you at once. However, I hope in the morning to furnish you with
a pass for your wagons. First of all, try to find out where your
property now is, and I will send one of my officers with you as a
protection. The rest to-morrow."
With these words the travelers were courteously dismissed; and as Anton
went out he saw the officer wearily throw himself back into an
easy-chair, and with bent head begin to play with the trigger of his
pistols.
A slight youth, with a large scarf, almost a child in years, but of a
most noble bearing, accompanied our friends. As they left the house,
they were politely saluted by several present, and it was plain that the
ante-chamber still believed in their diplomatic character.
The officer inquired whether he should accompany the gentlemen, as it
was his duty not to lose sight of them.
"Is this by way of protection or surveillance?" inquired Anton, who now
felt in good spirits.
"You will give me no occasion, I am sure, to exercise the latter,"
returned the small warrior in exquisite French.
"No," said the merchant, looking kindly at the youth; "but we shall
weary you, for we have yet to get through a good deal of uninteresting
and commonplace business this evening."
"I am only doing my duty," replied their escort, with some haughtiness,
"in accompanying you wherever you wish."
"And in order to do ours, we must make all the haste we can," said the
merchant. And so they traversed the streets of the capital. Night had
set in, and the confusion and bustle seemed sadder still under her
cloak. Crowds of the lowest of the populace, patrols of military, bands
of fugitive peasantry jostled each other, snatching, shrieking, cursing.
Many windows were illuminated, and their brilliance cast a shadowless,
ghostly glare over the streets. Thick red clouds rolled above the roofs
of the houses, for one of the suburbs was on fire, and the wind blew
swarms of golden sparks and burning splinters over the heads of the
travelers. Meanwhile the bells of the churches kept up a monotonous
tolling. The strangers hurried silently along, the imperious tones of
their escort always making way for them through the most unruly throng.
At length they reached the house of the agent of their firm. It was shut
up, and they had to knock long and loud before a window was opened, and
a piteous voice heard asking who was there.
When they entered the agent ran to meet them, wringing his hands, and
tearfully falling on the merchant's neck. The presence of the young
insurgent prevented him from expressing his feelings. He threw open the
nearest door, and in lamentable tones apologized for the exceeding
disorder in which the room was. Chests and coffers were being packed up;
male and female servants were running to and fro, hiding silver
candlesticks here, thrusting in silver spoons there. Meanwhile the
master of the house never left off wringing his hands, lamenting his
misfortunes and those of the firm, welcoming, and, in the same breath,
regretting the arrival of the principal, and every now and then assuring
the young officer, with choking voice, that he too was a patriot, and
that it was only owing to an unaccountable mistake on the part of one of
the maids that the cockade had been taken off his hat. It was plain that
the man and his whole family had quite lost their wits.
The merchant had much trouble before he could get him into a corner and
hear some business details. It appeared that the wagons had arrived in
town on the very day that the insurrection broke out. Through the
foresight of one of the wagoners, they had been taken into the great
court-yard of a remote inn, but as to what had become of them since then
the agent knew nothing.
After some further conversation the merchant said, "We shall not claim
your hospitality to-night; we shall sleep wherever our wagons are." All
the persuasions of the agent were peremptorily rejected.
This worthy but weak man seemed really distressed at the new danger into
which his friend was determined to run.
"I shall call you up early," said the merchant, as he left; "I propose
setting out to-morrow with my wagons, but first I wish to make a few, as
you know, necessary visits to our customers, and to have your company
during them." The agent promised to do his best by daylight.
Again our travelers went forth into the night, accompanied by the Pole,
who had scornfully listened to the half-whispered conversation. As they
went along the street, the principal, angrily throwing away his cigar,
said to Anton,
"Our friend will be of little use to us; he is helpless as a child. In
the beginning of the disturbance, he neglected to do his duty--to
collect money, and seek for reimbursement."
"And now," said Anton, sorrowfully, "no one will be inclined to pay or
reimburse us."
"And yet we must bring this about to-morrow, and you shall help me to do
so. By heaven, these warlike convulsions are in themselves inconvenient
enough to trade without this addition, paralyzing as they do all useful
activity, which is the only thing that prevents us from becoming mere
animals. But if a man of business allows himself to be more crushed than
is absolutely unavoidable, he does an injury to civilization--an injury
for which there is no compensation."
They had now reached a part of the town where empty streets, and the
silence of the grave immediately at hand, only enhanced the horrors of
the distant clamor and the red glare in the sky. At length they stopped
before a low building with a large gateway. Entering, they looked into
the bar, a dirty room with blackened rafters, in which loud-voiced and
brandy-drinking patriots clustered on bench and table. The young officer
called for the landlord. A fat figure with a red face appeared.
"In the name of the government, rooms for myself and my companions,"
said the young man. The host sullenly took up a bundle of rusty keys and
a tallow candle, and led them to an upper floor, where he opened the
door of a damp room, and morosely declared that he had no other for
them.
"Bring us supper and a bottle of your best wine," said the merchant; "we
pay well, and at once."
This announcement occasioned a visible improvement in the mood of the
fat landlord, who even made an unsuccessful attempt to be polite. The
merchant next asked for the wagons and wagoners. These questions were
evidently unwelcome. At first Boniface pretended to know nothing about
them, declaring that there were a great many wagons coming and going in
his court-yard, and that there were several wagoners too, but that he
did not know them.
It was in vain that the merchant tried to make him understand the object
of his coming; the landlord remained obtuse, and was about to relapse
into his former moroseness, when the young Pole came forward, and
informed Mr. Schröter that this was not the way of dealing with such
people. He then faced the landlord, called him all manner of hard names,
and declared that he would arrest and carry him off on the spot unless
he at once gave the most exact information.
The landlord looked timidly at the officer, and begged to be allowed to
retire and send up one of the wagoners.
Soon a lanky figure with a brown felt hat came lumbering up stairs,
started at the sight of the merchant, and at last announced, with
pretended cheerfulness, that there he was.
"Where are the wagons? where are the bills of lading?"
The wagons were in the court-yard. The bills were reluctantly produced
from the dirty leather purse of the wagoner.
"You guarantee me that your load remains complete and undisturbed?"
asked the merchant.
The felt hat ungraciously replied that he could do nothing of the kind.
The horses had been unharnessed and hid in a secret stable, that they
might not be confiscated by the government; as to the fate of the
wagons, he could neither prevent nor ascertain it, and all
responsibility ceased in troublous times like these.
"We are in a den of thieves," said the merchant to his escort; "I must
request your assistance in bringing these people to reason."
Now bringing people to reason was just what the young Pole believed to
be his speciality; so, with a smile, he took a pistol in one hand, and
said aside to Anton, "Do as I, and have the goodness to follow me." Next
he seized the wagoner by the throat, and dragged him down the stair.
"Where is the landlord?" cried he, in the most formidable tone he could
raise. "The dog of a landlord and a lantern!" The lantern being brought,
he drove the whole pack--the strangers, the fat landlord, the captured
wagoner, and all others assembled by the noise, before him into the
court-yard. Arrived there, he placed himself and his prisoner in the
centre of the circle, bestowed a few more injurious epithets upon the
landlord, rapped the wagoner on the head with his pistol, and then
courteously observed in French to the merchant, "This fellow's skull
sounds remarkably hollow; what next do you require from the boobies?"
"Have the goodness to summon the wagoners."
"Good," said the Pole; "and then?"
"Then I will examine the freight of the wagons, if it be possible to do
so in the dark."
"Every thing is possible," said the Pole, "if you like to take the
trouble to search through the old canvas in the night. But I should be
inclined to advise a bottle of Sauterne and a few hours' repose instead.
In times like these, one should not lose an opportunity of refreshing
one's self."
"I should prefer to inspect the wagons at once," said the merchant, with
a smile, "if you have no objection to it."
"I am on duty," replied the Pole, "therefore let's to work at once;
there are plenty of hands here to hold lights for you. You confounded
rascals," continued he, in Polish, again cuffing the wagoner and
threatening the landlord, "I will carry you all off together, and have a
court-martial held upon you, if you do not instantly bring all the
drivers belonging to this gentleman into my presence. How many of them?"
inquired he, in French, from the merchant.
"There are fourteen wagons," was the reply.
"There must be fourteen wagoners," thundered the Pole again to the
people; "the devil shall fly away with you all if you do not instantly
produce them." With the help of an old domestic servant, a dozen of the
drivers were at length brought forward; two, however, were in no way to
be recovered, and finally the landlord confessed that they had gone to
join the patriots.
The young Pole did not seem to attach much value to this instance of
patriotism. Turning to the merchant, he said, "Here you have the men,
now see to the freight; if a single article be found wanting, I will
have the whole of these fellows tried by court-martial." Then he
carelessly sat down on the pole of a carriage, and looked at the points
of his polished boots, which had got a good deal bemired.
A number of lanterns and torches were now brought, and after a few
encouraging words from the merchant, the wagoners proceeded to roll
away some empty carts, and to open out a passage to their own goods.
Most of these men had been employed by him before, and knew him and
Anton personally; some of them proved themselves trustworthy and
obliging; and while Mr. Schröter was cross-questioning the most
intelligent of their number, Anton hastened to ascertain, as well as he
could, the condition of the freight, which mostly consisted of wool and
tallow. Some wagons were untouched; one was entirely unloaded, and many
had lost their canvas covering, and been otherwise plundered. The
merchant had once more recourse to the young Pole. "It is just as we
supposed," said he; "the landlord has persuaded some of the drivers
that, now the revolution has set in, their obligations have ceased, and
they have begun to unload the wagons. Had we been a day later, every
thing would have been carried off. The landlord and a few of his
associates have been the instigators, and some of the wagoners have been
frightened into compliance."
At this announcement a new volley of imprecations proceeded from the
lips of the small authority, and the landlord, from whose face all
ruddiness had vanished, was soon on his knees before the officer, who
pulled him by the hair, and treated him very roughly indeed. Meanwhile
Anton and some of the men laid siege to a locked-up coach-house, broke
open the door, and disclosed the bales of wool and the remainder of the
stolen goods.
"Let these people reload," said the merchant; "they may well work the
night through as a punishment." After some opposition, the wagoners set
to, overpowered by a combination of threats and promises. The Pole drove
the drunken guests out of the tavern, had the outer door closed, and all
the candles and lanterns of the establishment brought into the
court-yard. Next he dragged the host by the hair of his head to the
upper story, and then, by the help of some patriots with great cockades,
tied him to a bedpost, and gave him to understand that that was the
nearest approach to a night's rest which he had to expect. "In the event
of the freight being found entire, and safely removed from your
premises, you shall be forgiven," said the Pole; "in the opposite case,
I shall have you tried at once, and shot."
Meanwhile the uproar in the court was great indeed. Anton had the wagons
reloaded and the freight properly secured. Full of his work, he scarcely
looked around, and only realized at odd moments his singular
_entourage_, and the exciting nature of the scene. It was a large square
court, surrounded by low, ruinous wooden buildings, stables, and
coach-houses, and having two entrances, one through the inn itself, and
one through a gate opposite. It occupied a space of several acres, as is
often the case with these hostelries of eastern Europe, stationed on
great thoroughfares; and afforded, as do the caravanseries of Asia,
shelter for large transports of goods, as well as for multitudes of the
poor and needy. All sorts of wagons were now assembled in the square
court in question, and it was crowded besides with ladders, poles,
wheels, gigantic hampers, gray canvas coverings, bundles of hay and
straw, old tar-barrels, and portable racks. Besides the stable lanterns
and flaming pine torches, there was the red glare in the sky, and the
lurid clouds of smoke and sparks rolling still over the heads of the
travelers. This strange sort of twilight shone here at least upon a
peaceful task. The wagoners worked hard, shouting loudly the while; dark
forms now vanished in the shadow of the bales, now sprang on the top of
them, while their animated gesticulations made them look, in the red
light, like a crowd of savages holding some mysterious nocturnal orgies.
The merchant, meanwhile, walked up and down between the inn and the
scene of action. It was in vain that Anton implored him to rest for a
few hours. "This is no night for us to sleep in," said he, gloomily; and
Anton read in his dark glance the resolve of a man who is ready to stake
his all upon the accomplishment of his inflexible will.
It was nearly morning when the last giant bale was firmly secured with
ropes and chains on the wagon top. Anton, who had himself been lending a
hand, now slipped down, and announced to his principal that their work
was done.
"At last!" replied the merchant, drawing a long breath; and then he went
up to announce the fact to their friendly escort.
He, for his part, had contrived to get through the night in his own way;
first, he thoroughly enjoyed the supper and wine brought him by the
terrified maids, and found leisure to say a few encouraging words to the
prettiest of them. Then he contemplated the dirty bed, and at last threw
himself, with a French oath, upon it, looking now at the distorted
countenance of the roguish host, who sat opposite him on the ground, now
at the ceiling; and, while half asleep himself, complimenting the
merchant, who looked in from time to time, upon his capacity of keeping
awake a whole night. At length the youth fell fast asleep. At least the
merchant found him in the morning outstretched on the coarse coverlet,
his delicate face shaded by his long black hair, his small hands
crossed, and a pleasant smile playing around his lips.
As he lay there he afforded no incorrect type of the aristocracy of his
nation: noble child that he was, with the passions, and perhaps the sins
of a man; while over against him crouched the coarse build of the
fettered plebeian, who pretended to sleep too, but often cast a
malicious glance at the recumbent form before him.
The aristocrat sprang up when the merchant approached the bed, and,
throwing the window open, said, "Good-day: it is morning, I see; I have
slept admirably." Next he called to a patrol passing by, briefly
informed the leader how things stood, made over to him the landlord and
the remainder of the supper, and desired him to stop at once, and keep
guard over the house until he should return. Then he ordered the
wagoners to harness the horses, and led the travelers out into the gray
dawn of a comfortless-looking day.
On their way to the agent the merchant said to Anton, "We shall divide
the most necessary visits between us. Tell our customers that we have no
kind of intention of oppressing them; that, on the restoration of some
degree of order, they may reckon upon the greatest forbearance and
consideration--nay, under conditions, upon an extension of credit, but
that at present we insist upon securities. We shall not effect much in
this confusion; but that these gentlemen should be, at a time like this,
even reminded of our firm, is worth a good deal." Then, in a lower tone,
he added, "The town is doomed: we shall do little business here for some
time to come; remember that, and be firm." And, turning to the Pole, he
said, "I request you to allow my fellow-traveler to pay a few business
calls in the company of our agent."
"If your agent will answer with his person for the gentleman's return,"
returned the Pole, with some reluctance, "I consent."
The light of day had exercised its gracious office of giving color to
flowers and courage to the faint-hearted, even in favor of the agent. He
declared himself ready to accompany Anton upon the terms proposed.
Accordingly, under the protection of the great cockade upon his
companion's hat, Anton hurried from house to house, pale indeed from
loss of rest, but with an undaunted heart. Every where he was received
with amazement not always free from confusion. "How could people think
in such a time about winding up matters of business, with the noise of
arms all round, and in deadly fear of a horrible future?"
Anton coolly replied, "Our firm is not accustomed to trouble itself
about rumors of war when not absolutely obliged to do so. All times are
suited for the fulfillment of obligations; and if this be a fit season
for us to come here, it is also a fit season for you to arrange matters
with me;" through which representations he succeeded here and there in
obtaining definite promises, commissions, nay, even reimbursement.
After a few hours' hard work, Anton met his principal in the agent's
house. When he had made his report, the merchant said, reaching out his
hand to him, "If we can succeed in getting our wagons safely out of the
town, we shall have done enough to enable us to bear the unavoidable
losses that we must undergo. Now, then, to the commandant." He gave a
few further instructions to the agent, whispering to him in parting, "In
a few days our troops will enter; I take it for granted that you will
not leave your house till then. We shall thus meet again."
With upraised hands the agent invoked the protection of all the saints
in the calendar upon the travelers, locked and bolted the house door
behind them, and hid his revolutionary cockade in the stove.
Our friends now hurried on through the tumult, led by the Pole. The
streets were full again; bands of armed men passed by, the populace was
in wilder excitement, and the noise greater than on the previous
evening. The houses were thundered at, and an entrance insisted on.
Brandy-casks were rolled on to the flags, and surrounded by drunken men
and women. Every thing denoted that the authorities were not
sufficiently strong to enforce street-discipline. Even in the house of
the commandant there was agitation and restlessness, soldiers were
hurrying to and fro, and the messages which they brought were evidently
unfavorable, for there was much whispering going on in the great
ante-chamber, and anxious suspense was visible on every face.
As soon as the young Pole entered he was surrounded by his friends and
drawn into a corner. After some hasty questions, he seized a musket,
called off a few soldiers by name, and left the room, without troubling
himself any further about the travelers.
The merchant and Anton were shown into the next room, where the young
commander-in-chief received them. He too looked pale and dejected, but
it was with the bearing of a true nobleman that he addressed Mr.
Schröter: "I have forwarded your wishes; here is a passport for you and
your wagons. I pray you to infer from this that we are anxious to treat
the citizens of your state with consideration, possibly even more than
the duty of self-preservation would dictate."
The merchant received the important document with shining eyes. "You
have shown me a remarkable degree of kindness," said he; "I feel myself
deeply indebted to you, and wish that I may one day be permitted to
prove my gratitude."
"Who knows?" answered the young commandant, with a melancholy smile; "he
who stakes all upon a cast may lose all."
"He may lose much," replied the merchant, courteously, "but not all, if
he has striven honorably."
At that moment a hollow sound was heard, a sound like the sweep of a
howling wind, or the roaring of a rushing flood. The commandant stood
motionless and listened. Suddenly a discordant scream of many voices
resounded close by, and some shots followed. Anton, made susceptible by
a night of wakefulness and long-continued excitement, started with
terror, and remarked that his principal's hand, in which was the
passport, shook violently. The door of the cabinet now burst open, and a
few stately-looking men rushed in, with garments torn, arms in their
hands, the traces of a street combat visible on their excited
countenances, and at their head the young escort of the travelers.
"Mutiny!" cried the youth to his commanding officer; "they are seeking
you. Save yourself. I will keep them off."
Quick as thought Anton sprang toward his principal, dragged him away,
and both flew through the ante-chamber, and down the staircase to the
ground floor. Here they came upon a band of soldiers who were
endeavoring to garrison the house against masses of the populace. But,
swift as were the movements of the travelers, those of their last
night's escort were quicker still, as, with a loud shout, he rushed to
head his friends in their resistance to the invaders. His black hair
flew wildly around his bare head, and his eyes shone out from his
beautiful and now pallid face with the unconquerable energy of a brave
man.
"Back!" he cried, with a loud, clear voice, to the raging people, and
sprang like a panther in among them, dealing sword-strokes round. The
masses gave way; the comrades of the brave youth ranged themselves
behind him. Again Anton seized his principal's arm, and dragged him off
with such speed as is only possible to men under the influence of strong
excitement. They had just got behind a projection of the house when they
heard a shot fired, and saw with horror the young Pole fall backward
bleeding, and heard his last cry, "The _canaille_!"
"To the wagons!" said the merchant, dashing down a narrow cross-street.
They still heard in the distance shots and cries of discord; and
breaking through bands of curious and terrified inhabitants, who
hindered their progress, they arrived breathless, and fearing the worst,
at the door of the inn.
Here, too, there was mutiny. The soldiers left in charge of the house
had loosed the landlord, and speedily made their retreat as soon as news
of the tumult reached them. The court-yard was now a scene of wrangling
and confusion. The landlord, supported by a number of idlers collected
from the street, was disputing violently with the wagoners. Some of the
wagons were harnessed and ready for departure, but from others the
canvas covering had been again dragged off. The case was a desperate
one. The merchant tore away from Anton, who tried to detain him, and,
rushing into the midst of the disputants, called out in Polish as loudly
as he could, while holding the passport above his head, "Stop, I say;
here is the order of the commander-in-chief authorizing the departure of
our wagons. Whoever resists it will be punished. We are under the
protection of the government."
"What government, you rogue of a German?" screamed the landlord, with
ominous face; "the old government is done away with; the traitors have
had their reward, and their spies shall be hanged as well;" and, rushing
at the merchant, he brandished an old sword at his head.
Our Anton shuddered; but man being in the most critical moments liable
to strange associations of idea, which play like meteors across the
anguish of his spirit, it chanced that the broad back of the landlord
suddenly reminded him of the back of a squat schoolfellow of his at
Ostrau, a good-natured baker's son, upon whom, in many a scuffle, he had
often practiced the boyish trick of tripping an adversary from behind.
Quick as lightning he sprang upon the landlord, and most skillfully
threw him. The falling sword swerved from its fatal aim, only striking
the arm of the merchant, cutting through the coat and into the flesh. As
the fat fellow lay struggling on his back like a beetle, Anton drew out
his trusty pistols, and cried, with the inspiration of despair, "Back,
you rascals, or I shoot him dead!"
This rapid diversion had more effect than could reasonably have been
hoped; the people that the landlord had collected around him, and who,
after all, were only working for his interest, fell back, while half a
dozen wagoners, with bars of iron and other implements of the kind,
crowded round the merchant, and now screamed as loudly as the other
party had done a short time before, declaring that no harm should happen
to the gentleman and his wagons. The merchant cried, "Drive these
strangers out!" and, taking up the sword that the landlord had dropped,
at the head of his adherents stormed the latter's abettors, and drove
them through the house. The most stiff-necked of them tried to intrench
themselves in the bar, but one after the other was cast out, roaring and
cursing the while. The door was then locked, and the merchant hastened
back to the court-yard, and found Anton still kneeling by the
incorrigible landlord to prevent him from rising. The rest of the
wagoners having timidly got out of the way, the merchant now summoned
them all, and ordered them to put the horses to, saying to Anton, "We
must leave this place. Better the street pavement than this den of
thieves."
"You bleed!" cried Anton, in great distress, his eye falling on the
merchant's arm.
"It must be a mere scratch; I can move the arm," was the prompt reply.
"Open the gate; out with the wagons. Forward, my men! Anton, one of the
wagoners will help you to bind the landlord."
"And where shall we go?" inquired Anton, in English. "Are we to take
these wagons into the bloodshed of the streets?"
"We have a passport, and will leave the town," answered the merchant,
doggedly.
"They will not respect our passport," cried Anton in return, while he
held a pistol at the head of the obstreperous landlord.
"If the worst come to the worst, there are other inns in this part of
the town; any of them will be a better refuge."
"But we have not the full complement of drivers, and some of our number
are disaffected."
"I will manage the disaffected," answered the merchant, sternly; "we
have the full number of horses, we only want the men. Those to whom the
horses belong will remain with them. The gate is open--out with the
wagons!"
The gate led to an open space covered with building-stones and _débris_,
and surrounded by a few poor houses. The merchant hastened thither to
superintend the departure. A stout youth came to Anton's assistance.
They were anxious moments these. Near the house, he and his helper were
struggling with the prostrate man, whose ugly wife and her two
maid-servants were howling at the house door. As the first wagon rolled
away, their screams became louder: the landlady called out "help" and
"murder!" and the maids wailed all the louder the more fervently the
young wagoner assured them that no harm would befall his worship, the
landlord, if he would only lie still, and that, moreover, they would all
pay their bills besides.
Just then loud knocks were heard at the house door; the women rushed in
and unlocked it at once; and so great had been the hopeless excitement
of the last few minutes, that it was almost with a sense of relief that
Anton saw a strong body of soldiery defile into the court. He rose from
the ground, and left the landlord free. But the merchant walked slowly,
and with uncertain steps, like a broken-down man, to meet the enemies
who, at this decisive moment, frustrated his will.
The leader of the band, one of those whom the young Pole had in the
morning summoned to the inn, said to the merchant, "You are prisoners;
neither you nor your wagons can leave the town."
"I have a passport," eagerly replied Mr. Schröter, feeling for his
pocket-book.
"The new government forbids your journey," was the curt rejoinder.
"I must submit," said the merchant, mechanically sitting down on a
wagon-pole, and clinging to the body of the vehicle.
Anton held the half-unconscious man in his arms, and said, in utmost
indignation, "We have been twice robbed in this inn; we were in danger
of being killed; my companion is wounded, as you see; if your government
is determined to detain us and our wagons, at least protect our lives
and our property. The wagons can not remain here, and if we are
separated from them, it will be still more difficult to prevent their
being plundered."
The soldiers now held a consultation, and at length their leader called
Anton to share in it. After much discussion, it was finally arranged
that the wagons should be moved to a neighboring establishment, equal to
this in accommodation, but superior in character. Anton obtained leave
to move to it with his companion, and there remain under surveillance
till something further should be decided. Meanwhile the merchant sat
leaning against the canvas covering, and taking, apparently, no interest
in what was going on. Anton now rapidly told him the decision arrived
at.
"We must bear it," said the principal, rising slowly and with
difficulty. "Ask the landlord for our bill."
"We will pay the landlord," said the soldier in command, roughly pushing
the functionary aside. "Think of yourself," added he, kindly catching
hold of the wounded man's arm to support him.
"Pay for us and for the horses," repeated Mr. Schröter to Anton; "we can
not remain in these people's debt."
Anton accordingly took out his pocket-book, called the drivers together,
and, in their presence, made over a banknote to the landlord, saying to
him, "I now pay you this sum provisionally, until you shall have made
out your account. You men are witnesses." The drivers respectfully
bowed, and hurried back to their wagons.
The procession now set forth. First a portion of the armed escort, then
the heavy wagons, which slowly and helplessly rumbled along over the
stones; some of them without drivers, but kept in line by their
well-trained horses.
Mr. Schröter stood at the gate, leaning upon Anton, and counted each
wagon as it passed; and as the last rolled off, he said, "Done at last,"
and consented to be led away.
In the very next cross-street the procession turned into the great
court-yard of another inn. When the last of the wagons had at length had
its horses unharnessed, and the soldiers had barred the gate from
within, the merchant fell down in a swoon, and was carried into the
house.
He was placed in a small room, a guard stationed at his door, and
another in the court. Anton remained alone with the sufferer. Full of
anxiety, he knelt by his bed, unfastened his clothes, and bathed his
face with cold water. After a time Mr. Schröter revived, opened his
eyes, looked gratefully at Anton, and pointed to the window.
Anton looked out, and said, joyously, "It opens upon the court-yard. I
can overlook and count the wagons. I really think that here, although
prisoners, we are tolerably safe. But, first of all, allow me to look to
your wound: your clothes are much stained with blood."
"My weakness proceeds more from over-excitement than loss of blood,"
replied the merchant, raising himself up.
Anton opened the door, and begged for a surgeon. Their guard was
prepared to go for one, and after an anxious hour had passed, he
introduced a shabby-looking individual, who hurriedly produced a razor
and a dirty pocket-handkerchief, wiping the razor on his sleeve, and
bringing the handkerchief into alarming proximity with Anton's chin. It
was with some difficulty that the reason of his being sent for was
conveyed to him.
Anton cut away the sleeve of the coat and shirt, and himself examined
the wound. It was a cut in the upper arm; not a deep one, indeed, but
the arm was stiff, and Mr. Schröter suffered severely. The barber
attempted to bandage it, and went off, promising to return on the
morrow. The merchant fell back, exhausted with the pain of the
bandaging, and Anton sat by him the remainder of the day, laying wet
cloths around the arm, and watching the feverish slumber of the patient.
Soon he sank himself into a sort of half sleep, a dull apathy, which
made him indifferent to all that was going on without. Thus evening wore
away, and night came on. Anton occasionally dipped his fingers in cold
water, and crept from the bed to the window to watch the wagons, or to
the door to exchange a whisper with the guard, who showed a friendly
interest in the case.
Meanwhile the fire continued its ravages, and the sound of musketry
thundered at the gates. Anton looked carelessly at the burning fragments
which the wind drove over the unhappy town, and heard, with a faint
degree of surprise, that the noise of the firing grew louder and louder,
and at last became a deafening crash; all the sounds that struck his ear
from the street appearing to him as unimportant as the ringing of a
little early church-bell which he had often heard from his own room in
the principal's house, and which never disturbed any one out of his
morning repose. The whole night through he kept mechanically wetting and
applying cold-water poultices to the patient's arm, and rising whenever
the latter groaned or turned; but when, toward morning, the merchant
fell into a sounder sleep, Anton forgot his task, his head fell heavy
upon his hands outstretched on the table, he neither saw nor heard; and
amid the screams of the wounded, and the thundering of cannon which
attended the taking of a stoutly-defended town, amid all the horrors of
a bloody conflict, he slept like a tired boy over his school-task.
When he awoke, after the lapse of a few hours, it had long been morning.
The merchant smiled kindly at him from his bed, and reached out his
hand. Anton pressed it with all his heart, and hurried to the window.
"They are all right," said he. He then opened the door; the guard of the
previous night had vanished; and on the street he heard the beat of
drums, and the regular tramp of regiments marching in.